


Ice-Cold

by lilidelafield



Series: How They First Met Collection [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 08:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17362181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: Napoleon would rather work on his own, but Waverly won't hear of it. His last chance is to make it work with the new Russian iceberg, Illya Kuryakin.But how can Napoleon Solo put up with a Russian ice-man who never even cracks a smile?





	Ice-Cold

Alexander Waverly tutted in exasperation. That was the fifth partner to quit on Solo in the last six months.

Napoleon Solo was an outstanding field agent and worked well on his own. In Waverly’s opinion, the man was well named, for according to three of the five men, Solo was entirely too egotistical and self-absorbed to gel very well with any partner.

Waverly knew better.

Solo was the most capable and easy-going individual in the New York office, but his standards for his agents were high, and those for anyone assigned to partner the section chief himself were even higher. Solo deliberately put his new partners through rigorous testing to see how they fared under pressure. So far, none of them had been able to last beyond a week or two.

There was nothing else for it. Present policy dictated that all section two agents were to be assigned a partner, and so regardless of their personal preferences, his two-lone wolf agents would have to be put together. He would put the new Soviet import with Solo.

Illya Kuryakin had been transferred to the New York office from the British branch seven months earlier where he had had risen through the ranks of section two swiftly. Kuryakin had a long and tough history despite his relative youth, but no one would know it who worked with him. He was straight-faced, straight-laced, never smiled or even smirked, never told a joke or accepted any invitation anywhere, for any reason. He never appeared to relax at all and would only speak when he had to regarding work, and even then, it seemed he would never use a full sentence when one or two words would do.

Waverly had found it entertaining to watch the man. He was of the blue-eyed, blond haired, baby-faced variety of young men that the women seemed to swoon over, and it had not escaped his attention that the women here in New York had come to regard it as a personal challenge to win a smile, or at least a word of approval from the ice-cold Russian.

Watching Solo interacting with Kuryakin had been something else altogether. It was almost like two alpha male lions circling each other, each searching for the other’s weakness, waiting for the right moment to attack.  Waverly had the distinct impression that if they could get through a week without killing each other, they would turn into the tightest partnership ever known within the U.N.C.L.E.

He waited patiently, listening to Solo explaining yet again how he needed no partner, how he was fine on his own, how a partner would slow him down, and finally removed his pipe from the corner of his mouth and simply stared Solo down. Solo gradually fell silent and nodded in resignation.

            “I’m wasting my breath here, aren’t I?” he said softly. Waverly nodded.

            “Yes, every time you give me the same speech, I find myself telling you the same thing. Well, this time the partnership stands, regardless of what either of you have to say about it. If you think this man cannot handle it, train him so that he can. If you have trouble connecting with him, try harder until you succeed. Understood? I do not have unlimited supplies of personnel Mister Solo. This time if you and your new partner refuse to work together, then you will both find yourselves cashiered out of section two and reassigned to help the cook. Do I make myself clear?”

            “Crystal clear. So…who is it, sir?”

Waverly turned away and picked up the file he had been reading before the CEO had come in.

            “I have already informed him of the change, and he is currently transferring his belongings into the spare desk in your office. You will likely find him there. Dismissed.”

Napoleon Solo left the Chief’s office, a troubled frown on his face. Just because the last few men had not been able to take the heat as the partner to the chief enforcement officer, how was that his fault? Waverly did seem annoyed this time though. Chivers had been one of the best men in the department, until a six-day stint as Solo’s partner had, for some reason, prompted the man to tender his resignation from UNCLE altogether, with the information that he had decided to pursue a career in gardening. As far away from law enforcement as it was possible to get.

So, who had he been landed with this time? Solo had no doubts about his ability to train someone if need be, but that would of course, depend on the individual’s willingness to be trained. He opened his office door and walked in and stopped as though he had walked into a wall.

The ice-cold blue eyes of the department’s Soviet agent glared at him briefly before looking back at the paperwork in front of him. Solo took a moment to school his features. Illya Kuryakin, of all people. The Russian ice-berg.

His own personal experience of Kuryakin had been surprisingly limited, as the Soviet had arrived in New York still recovering from a gun-shot wound to the left shoulder which had restricted his movement and kept him out of the field for the first two months. During that time however, he had spent some considerable time in the research and development department, helping the team down there with some of their new ideas, and by all accounts, prompting some pretty amazing new ideas of his own which were now currently in development. The man certainly had brains.

He had also studied the man’s performance in the shooting range. Kuryakin was an ace sharpshooter, who had never been known to miss. Since being sent into the field, his missions had mostly been liaison type affairs, escorting visiting foreign dignitaries who seemed to appreciate an UNCLE agent from overseas as proof that UNCLE was truly as international as it claimed to be.

If Kuryakin was an underused as Solo believed him to be, this might turn out to be an interesting partnership after all.

            “So, you are the unlucky one, Mister Kuryakin.” He said, with a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome to your new office. You might want to have that chair replaced though. The back is broken…”

            “Thank you.” came a slightly frosty reply. “So I discovered for myself when I first sat down.  I have, however, repaired the chair. It will not need to be replaced.”

            “Oh.” Solo was momentarily taken aback, but he grinned. “Well fair enough.”

Kuryakin spoke in a gentle accent, as though he had been away from his homeland for a long time. Whether he had or no, Solo had no idea. It was one of the many things he did not know about his new partner.

Kuryakin was already focused on his paperwork with such concentration that forbade any sane person from interrupting him. Solo wondered how to break the ice without being shot daggers from those eyes again.

He sat down at his desk and blinked at the empty in-tray which he had known for a fact had been full to over-flowing just this morning. He looked up.

            “Er…I see you have taken and completed all of my outstanding paperwork.” He said, the surprise clear in his voice. Kuryakin glanced up with a single nod.

            “The paperwork needed doing, and you were in a meeting with Mister Waverly. As I understand it, the role of partners is to assist one another, correct?”

Napoleon nodded.

            “Correct.”

Kuryakin nodded once, then bent once more over his work. A few moments later however, he looked up again and put down his pen.

            “Is there a problem, Mister Solo?”

Solo closed his mouth and shook his head.

            “You are uh…you are not quite how you portray yourself to be, are you Mister Kuryakin?”

The ice-cold eyes softened slightly.

            “And neither are you, Mister Solo.”

Solo smiled.

            “Well, since we are apparently partners for the rest of our time in section two, I suggest you call me Napoleon.”

            “Very well Napoleon. You may call me Mister Kuryakin.”

Napoleon stared at his new partner in shock for a full second, then he took in the slightly amused twinkle behind those cold blue eyes, and realized something profound. Kuryakin really did have a sense of humour after all. A humour that was so dry that nobody had yet discovered it. He started chuckling, then threw his head back into a full belly-laugh. When he finally started to recover, he saw what no one had yet seen in New York as yet. An amused smirk on the Russian’s face to match the glint in his eye.

            “Well my new friend. I think we might well do alright together.”

Kuryakin nodded.

            “I think so. By the way, you will still have to read through all of this and sign off on it.”

Solo sighed.

            “The burden of being the CEO. You know you’ll be the deputy CEO now, don’t you?”

His partner nodded.

            “That is why I fully intend to make sure you stay alive. I have no desire to take your place.”

Solo grinned.

            “Glad to hear it. Look, once we’re done with this, why don’t we go for a drink? Celebrate our new partnership and get to know each other a bit more?”

Kuryakin narrowed his eyes, then shook his head.

            “I never drink without eating. We go to my favourite Russian restaurant, and I will teach you what you have been missing, growing up here in America.”

Solo raised his eyebrows.

            “You paying?”

Kuryakin let out an unexpected chuff of laughter and shook his head.

            “No chance. You are, Napoleon.”

Solo’s grin widened.

            “How can I turn down an invitation like that? You’re on!”


End file.
